


These Foolish Things

by getoffmyhead



Series: Unforgettable [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Developing Relationship, Geno Never Joined the NHL, M/M, Olympics (Again), Sochi 2014, Team Canada, Team Russia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21662875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmyhead/pseuds/getoffmyhead
Summary: Sid got lucky with his initial Olympics experience. Most Olympians never got to attend the games in their home country, let alone on the first go-around. The second time, many things were different. They were going out of the country to Russia, a place Sid had never visited. He had a C on his chest for his country, a huge, new responsibility. And his family wasn't with him this time.With all the changes, Sid was thrilled to see a familiar face in Zhenya, a sentiment Zhenya apparently did not share.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin
Series: Unforgettable [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559743
Comments: 19
Kudos: 191





	These Foolish Things

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everybody who read part one! I would tell you not to get too excited about how fast this is going, but I'm feeling pretty obsessed with getting it done. Still holding to a hard deadline of December 31 for now.

**Sochi**  
**2014**  


When Sid arrived in Toronto to start practicing with the team for the 2014 Olympics, Babs pulled him aside and shoved a jersey at him with a white C sewn onto the chest. “This isn’t going to be like last time,” Babs said while Sid was still trying to process what was happening. “We don’t have home ice out there. Nobody will be cheering for us.”

Sid dragged his gaze off the white C emblazoned on a sea of red and up to Babs’ critical stare. Sid thought for sure Toews would be the captain --he led the Blackhawks to the Cup the year before, so the choice seemed logical. Sid thought maybe he’d be an alternate, but not the captain.

“We’re taking these guys into enemy territory," Babs continued. "They don’t need a general, some ass hole sitting back yelling at them from behind. They need someone to lead the charge. That’s you. So--don’t let me down.”

On the plane to Sochi, Sid still wondered what Babs saw in him that he didn’t see in Toews. Toews was clearly wondering the same thing--he’d been a little frosty toward Sid since the first practice.

The charter landed in Sochi late at night, and the descent jolted Sid awake. He blearily turned to open the window and see out. Russia sprawled out before him, as far as he could see. He’d never been before, but from 10,000 feet up, it looked--disappointingly--pretty much the same as everywhere else--green and brown and blue. Sid had expected a snowscape straight out of Doctor Zhivago.

Team Canada took care of chartering a bus to meet them at the airport as soon as the team departed. Players dragged their weary bodies off the plane and onto the bus, grateful not to have any obligations in the morning. They would all need to sleep.

Out the bus window, Sochi didn’t look quite so much like everywhere else, though the perpetual blizzard was still conspicuously absent. The architecture looked different from North America. Even the streets themselves looked foreign, and not just because of the language on the road signs. Sid squinted when they drove past a few palm trees--they were there for the _Winter_ Olympics, right?

The bus drew to heaving stop at Olympic Village. In the dark, it just looked like a row of drab buildings. Sid didn’t care as long as they had beds--he was starting to fall asleep against the window.

When they were divvying up rooms in the lobby, Shea appeared at Sid’s elbow to claim him as a roommate and shrugged at Sid's curious grin. “Worked last time, eh?”

Sid laughed. “For sure. Why change anything?”

“I’ll try to keep the party to a minimum,” Shea joked as they started to walk toward the stairs.

“Maybe don’t start in on that early wake-up call just yet.”

“Will do, roomie. I’m going to sleep for a week.”

“Same.”

They found their room, forced themselves to shower, and then collapsed into their beds.

*****

Sid woke up with the sun streaming on his face and groaned. They forgot to close the curtains before they went to sleep. He peeked over at Shea--still passed out. The beams were creeping toward his bed, too, though not quite touching yet. Sid forced himself up and went to close the curtains.

At the window, Sid paused. The view overlooked a square below, bustling with athletes. Past that, across the street, he could see water--the Black Sea. It didn’t look anything like what he’d expected, a cold, frozen desert. It almost appeared...tropical. Sid shut the curtain but suddenly felt too curious to go back to sleep. He pulled on his clothes quietly and went out.

Outside, in the square, Sid almost regretted putting on a jacket--he could have tolerated the weather in just a shirt. He squinted into the bright morning sun, looking out toward the Black Sea, an expanse of glassy, blue water. His feet started that way before he could stop to think, tempted by the gorgeous view.

Sid found a paved walking path along the pebbled beach and meandered down it. The wind played across the water and misted him with sea air, but the warm sun countered the chilling effect. Everywhere his eyes could turn held a new kind of beauty--the play of sun off the smooth little rocks, trees swaying up by the road, the stretch of sea mirroring the sky. It was so unlike what Sid thought he would be experiencing here. He could see taking early jogs down the beach before breakfast, strolling outside the arena to warm up for games.

The walk went on longer than Sid intended, so engrossed was he in the scenery. He finally reversed his path when his stomach rumbled, reminding him that he was long overdue to fuel his weary body.

Only when he returned to the village did Sid realize he didn’t actually know where the chow hall was located. They got in so late, he wasn’t sure anyone on Team Canada asked about it. They all just wanted to see a bed.

Sid was walking down the path in front of the row of buildings looking for signs when a familiar laugh--one Sid was surprised he remembered after four years--startled him out of his thoughts. Sid turned toward the laughter--it couldn't seriously be--but yes. There was Zhenya, leaning back against a bike rack in front of one of the dorm buildings with two other big guys, undoubtedly hockey players. One of the other guys was speaking, telling a story with big, animated gestures. Zhenya looked so good, face tilted up and bathed in sunlight while he guffawed at the storyteller. It took Sid a second to do anything but stare.

Sid shook himself out of it and got his feet moving again, happy to see a familiar face. It also made him feel a little full of himself that he’d been at the Olympics _twice_, enough that he recognized faces outside the NHL. He was so busy patting himself on the back about it, he didn’t think about what Babs said about enemy territory or what the guys with Zhenya might think when Sid strode up. “Hey! Zhenya!”

Zhenya jerked, and his smile vanished. When he turned and laid eyes on Sid, he jumped up from the bike rack like it shocked him, eyes wide and lips parted.

“Hey, sorry,” Sid said, hoping surprise was the only thing causing Zhenya’s upset reaction. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just...”

Sid trailed off when the guy who had been telling the story looked Sid up and down, then turned to Zhenya to grumble something at him with a gesture at Sid. Zhenya shook his head tightly and clenched his jaw, then responded to the guy with a terse couple of words.

The second guy apparently spoke English because he stepped toward Sid and said, “You are lost.” It did not sound like any kind of offer to help him get back on track. Sid tried to look at Zhenya to gauge whether this was some kind of prank. Despite Babcock’s dramatic speech, surely these guys were not _that_ competitive.

Zhenya only met Sid’s eyes for a second before he jerked his gaze down to the ground. So, no help there. Sid was on his own.

“Uh, yeah,” Sid agreed carefully. “I’m lost. I’m just looking for--”

“You see flag?” the guy asked, nodding at the nearby Russian flags on the building.

“Yes, I can see the flag,” Sid said tersely, getting really annoyed now that he figured it probably wasn’t a joke.

The storyteller apparently took issue with Sid’s tone and tensed. In the corner of Sid’s eye, Zhenya cringed like he was about to regret every decision he ever made and darted between them. For a second, Sid thought Zhenya was going to address his teammate, come to Sid’s defense. Instead, Zhenya turned on Sid.

“Go away,” Zhenya said low, angry. His eyes weren’t fixed on Sid. They glared over his right shoulder. “Don’t come here.”

Sid huffed and shook his head. “You guys take this all a little too seriously, eh?”

The storyteller started to make another aggressive move, and Zhenya put out an arm to stop him. “Maybe learn to shut up,” Zhenya sneered at Sid. “Go.”

Sid rolled his eyes and turned to stalk away. Jesus, four years had changed that guy.

Sid finally found the chow hall with the help of a couple Swedish skiers and tried to shake off the encounter with bacon and coffee. When that didn’t work, he returned to his room, still feeling sullen and intent on taking a nap. He couldn’t help continuing to fume over the interaction with Zhenya--was he seriously _so_ ashamed of the reminder that he once screwed a Canadian? The answer seemed obvious, if not satisfying. 

Sid reached the room and shouldered through his door into chaos. Amid a flurry of movement, a woman screamed, and Shea cried, “Shit!” Before Sid could react, Shea was pulling covers up over him and the woman in his bed.

“Oh fuck, sorry,” Sid said as he bolted back out into the hall and slammed the door behind him.

Sid stood there for a second, unsure of what to do. This was his room, but he was apparently being evicted for a hookup. Sid thought he lucked out with Shea, the way he was always so serious and businesslike. Sid never thought he would have to deal with something like this.

An ugly wave of self-pity welled up as Sid started to drag his feet down the hall in retreat. First Zhenya, now Shea--Sid was beginning to feel like he would never go somewhere in Sochi he wasn’t immediately kicked out of. Would they let him into the arena, at least? The gym?

Sid ended up downstairs in a common area playing Call of Duty with one of the figure skaters from Japan, who was excellent at the game but spoke next to no English. At least he fucking smiled at Sid after sniping him. It was nice to feel like _someone_ in the world wanted Sid around.

Shea appeared in a disheveled rush half an hour into the game. “There you are. I’ve been looking. God, I’m so sorry. That was so obnoxious.”

“It’s fine, man. Just use a sock or something, eh?”

“No, you don’t--” Shea stopped, fidgeting miserably. “That was my wife. She surprised me, coming in. She said before she couldn’t come. She showed up, and you weren’t there and well...I guess we got kind of carried away. But you won’t have to worry about it again. She got a hotel downtown, so the room is all yours.”

So Sid would be totally alone. Outstanding. He mashed the shoot button and took out an NPC with more gusto than necessary. “I seriously don’t mind,” Sid said, because what choice did he have? He couldn’t force Shea to room with him.

Shea plopped down on the couch beside Sid, a hulking figure crouched like a jockey on the tiny piece of modern furniture. “Most guys would freak out.”

“Don’t worry about it. You want in on this?” Sid asked, waving the controller.

“Oh, I better not. She’s waiting for me. I just wanted to make sure we’re cool, since--yeah.”

“We’re totally cool. No problem.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Capt’n.”

Shea knocked his knuckles against Sid’s shoulder and levered himself up to bounce away. The Japanese skater one-shot killed Sid as soon as he respawned. Sid sighed. It was going to be a long trip.

*****

The opening ceremony took place after sundown. Sid joined the whole of Team Canada again, just like he had four years ago. Only, this time, the press _was_ interested in hockey. As the reigning gold medalists, Canada was getting a lot of attention, and Sid was the captain this time. He spent a lot of his night in interviews with his smile getting harder and harder to maintain. It started to feel like there would be no end, though it validated Sid's decision to tell his parents the schedule would likely be far busier on this trip, so they didn’t have to come. He would not have been able to sneak away for them this time.

Sid dragged into his empty room after midnight and collapsed face-first on his bed. He seriously considered calling Kuni, the only other Penguin on Team Canada, and asking him to come over and sleep in the vacated bed. The guy didn’t talk much, but Sid liked his presence. It was calm, soothing. Kuni never freaked out about anything.

He was still weighing his options when someone knocked, quiet as a mouse, on the door. Sid lifted his head up, wondering if he’d misheard, but then it happened again--a soft rapping.

Sid opened his door and started at the sight of Zhenya. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, glancing around the hall for other Canadian athletes--it was empty.

Zhenya had a dark sweatshirt on with the hood pulled up like anyone his height could be inconspicuous. “Hi, Sid.”

Sid grabbed his wrist and hauled him inside the room. “Hi? Really?”

Zhenya looked at him pitifully, eyes pleading for something--maybe just a hint of understanding after his obnoxious behavior earlier. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and locked his eyes onto Sid’s feet. “Sorry. How I say before, I have to. I’m sorry.”

Sid was too soft for his own good sometimes. He knew that. It wasn’t something harmful enough to change, mostly, but he’d been stung by it before. He’d been hurt. Still, with Zhenya standing there looking so miserable, in such sharp contrast to his earlier sneer, Sid caved. He uncrossed his arms and softened. “The team expects you to be ass holes to us, huh?”

Zhenya jerked a shameful nod. “It was different in Canada. Nobody think it's weird. Here, in Russia--people can see. Talk about, like, why I'm friend with NHL guy? I need...fake.”

With that, the last of Sid’s anger folded like a house of cards. “Oh, Zhenya. It’s okay. I get it.”

Zhenya dared to look up, furtive and hesitant. “Okay?”

“Sure. Hey, next time, I’ll give it back to you. Maybe we can get in a fight.”

A little smile pulled at Zhenya’s tight expression, trying to break through the misery. “Maybe drop gloves.”

Sid laughed at the thought. “You better pull punches, though. My jaw’s gotten a lot more expensive since the last time you saw me.” He had basically shattered it in a Penguins game just a year ago. Too many surgeries later, it had a permanent plate holding it together, and a quarter of his bottom teeth were fake.

Zhenya’s burgeoning smile flickered into sympathy. “Yes, I know,” he said softly. “I watch when it happen.” He hesitated a second before he stepped forward and touched Sid’s face. When he smiled again, it was soft and so close Sid could smell the sharp mint of his gum. “Still really handsome.”

Sid could see where this was heading. He shouldn’t do this again. It was one thing to hook up at one Olympics--two would be a pattern. Especially since it seemed like Zhenya would be under more scrutiny this time, they should probably just not start.

Still--Sid licked his lips, and Zhenya's eyes flicked down to watch, then returned to Sid's eyes with so much heat in them. It didn't seem like four years apart had done anything to break up the attraction--certainly not for Sid. He swallowed but didn’t say a word when Zhenya bent in to kiss him.

Sid hadn’t forgotten how good making out with Zhenya could be. He kissed with a single-minded focus, slow and unrestrained. It only took a couple of seconds to shake off the concept that this was somehow a bad idea.

Zhenya’s hands rucked up Sid’s shirt and slid underneath to explore his back and sides, down his stomach. Sid yanked back to pull the shirt off entirely and revel in Zhenya’s hungry eyes raking over his body. He’d bulked up some since last time, and Zhenya certainly looked like he approved.

“Get the deadbolt,” Sid said, even though he was pretty sure Shea wasn’t coming back. He jerked a nod at the door and started to shuck out of his pants. Zhenya didn’t move, transfixed by Sid’s stripping. “Okay, don’t then. If you want to get caught screwing around with the captain of Team Canada.”

Zhenya snorted, muttered something in Russian, and went to get the lock. He hurried back while pulling his shirt off and crashed into Sid again like a wave. He herded Sid back toward a bed, kissing him the whole way.

Sid’s legs hit the bed, and he sat down on it. He grinned up at Zhenya and reached for his pants, tugging them down Zhenya's long legs. Zhenya braced a hand on Sid's shoulder while he stepped out of his pants, then climbed onto Sid’s lap and sat on his thighs.

Zhenya’s kisses got even lazier. He acted like he wanted nothing more than to run his tongue across Sid’s for the rest of the night while he sat in his lap and rubbed his balls against Sid’s thigh. His hands were the only active part about him, roaming all over Sid’s skin.

“What do you want?” Sid asked when he could wrench himself away from Zhenya’s mouth. God, he looked so good with parted red lips and a flush across his cheeks.

“You have condom?” Zhenya asked, and despite his apparent ease with asking, his blush deepened.

“Yeah,” Sid answered--his first Olympic experience had taught him to come prepared. “In my bag.”

“Fuck me.”

That would be absolutely no fucking problem, Sid thought as he ushered Zhenya off his lap to get up so he could retrieve condoms and lube from his bag.

Zhenya went with him just as easily as he had four years ago, grinning and sweet and pliant, though less shy about it. He still deferred to Sid for almost everything, letting him decide how to put Zhenya on the bed so Sid could finger him. Sid opted to lay him out on his back with a leg over Sid's shoulder.

Zhenya wasn’t too noisy for the first couple of fingers, mostly just letting out breathy gasps and little, aborted groans. But when Sid got the third one worked in and started fucking them in and out like a preview of coming attractions, Zhenya began to really moan. “Ah, that, yes. Fuck me.”

Sid could only hope his neighbors weren’t around or were already asleep, but he would take a walk of shame in the morning if it meant he didn't have to make Zhenya stop. He kept up working his fingers inside until Zhenya’s thighs were shaking, dropping kisses along Zhenya's calf while he did.

“You ready?” Sid asked. His voice sounded as unsteady as he felt, trembling. In his memory, late at night with a shameful hand around his cock, Sid built Zhenya up in his mind--a sex unicorn, impossible to match. But having him again, splayed out--the fantasy wasn't far off. Sid was edging on desperate.

“Ready all night. You so slow,” Zhenya said even as he ground his hips down onto Sid’s fingers and gasped.

“Yeah, seems like you really hate it.”

Zhenya didn’t dignify him with a response. He reached down and wrapped a hand around his own cock.

“Hold up,” Sid said, reaching for a condom. “I want to make you come.”

“Then hurry up,” Zhenya complained. A smile tugged at his mouth while he said it.

Sid knocked Zhenya’s leg off his shoulder, ignored his indignant sound in response, and rolled the condom on. Then he shuffled up between his legs and guided his dick inside without any preamble.

Zhenya put his head back and moaned. “Oh, fuck, Sid.”

Sid rolled his hips forward, not fighting his smile. He probably should be telling Zhenya to knock it off, not to say his name so loud next door to other members of Team Canada, but--god he did not care. He liked the sound of his name on Zhenya’s tongue.

“Slow or fast?” he asked, kissing down Zhenya’s neck when he’d gotten himself all the way in.

“Fuck,” Zhenya panted, then said a string of Russian. “Fast. Fuck me.”

Sid could get all the way on board with that request. He pulled Zhenya’s hips to get him situated on the bed, braced himself on the mattress, and got down to work.

Without anything to hold onto, Zhenya clutched at Sid's shoulders. His inhales trembled against Sid's ear, and every exhale contained a noise--a moan or a curse, which started in English and became only Russian when they'd been at it a while.

Suddenly, Zhenya said something urgent-sounding and tried to put his hand down between them. Sid could figure out his message easy enough--he was teetering and about to go over. Sid could let Zhenya jerk himself off the rest of the way, but he had a better idea. He adjusted, so he was braced on one arm, and intercepted Zhenya's hand. 

"Sid," Zhenya pled, eyes wide.

"Shh, I got you," he soothed. Stubborn as he remembered Zhenya being, Sid was surprised at how fast he relented, jerking an urgent nod and pulling his hand back. 

Zhenya came with a choked sound when Sid had barely gotten a hand around him. Sid tried to slow down his thrusts to coax him through it but soon got a sharp heel in his lower back.

“Come on,” Zhenya said. His voice was shaking. Sid picked the pace back up. He was on edge himself, and listening to Zhenya beg for him to come inside him pushed him over.

Sid forced himself to pull out and get up long enough to ditch the condom and then collapsed next to Zhenya in bed. Zhenya turned toward him and kissed down his nose and across his cheeks.

“Can you stay?” Sid asked because he never fucking learned, apparently. He kicked himself internally for opening his mouth before Zhenya even answered.

“Yes.”

Sid reared back to stare at him. “What?”

Zhenya grinned. “Yes. I will stay. If you don’t have other person in room.”

“No, no. He’s gone, staying with his wife.”

“Good. I like to see you again.”

Sid’s heart felt suddenly full and happy. “Oh, um. Me too. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Zhenya pulled him in and kissed him without any urgency. It felt more familiar than it had any right to.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Sid asked when they'd been lying there long enough to start feeling kind of sticky and gross.

Zhenya burrowed his face into Sid’s shoulder and shook his head.

“I think we’ll both fit,” Sid coaxed.

“Together?” Zhenya sounded interested.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, okay. Shower.”

They did just barely fit in the shower together. The squeeze gave them plenty of opportunities to touch each other out of a pretense of necessity. Zhenya spent most of his time acting like he couldn’t get the soap unless he grabbed Sid’s butt first.

“You’re not subtle,” Sid laughed at him, and Zhenya just shrugged, unremorseful, and kept feeling him up. Despite his best efforts, they both managed to get clean.

Even though it was late by the time they dried off and returned to bed, Sid didn’t feel quite like sleeping anymore. He turned on the TV and flipped through channels until Zhenya made a pleased noise about one. It looked like a soap opera with a man and a woman yelling at each other.

“What’s this?”

Zhenya said something in Russian, then, “It is very silly. Always, people are die, come back. My mother like it.”

Definitely a soap opera then. Sid watched the woman storm around the entrance of a mansion, hands waving.

“She is mad because he is dead for three year. He is husband. She is marry again to new man, so now he is coming back, want again to be marry. He is say he forget they are marry, then only remember now. She say, how you can forget? You have child.” Zhenya chuckled. “Silly, like I say.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. He didn’t care how dumb the show was, he would listen to Zhenya translate it forever.

Sid drifted off to Zhenya’s running commentary, warm and peaceful, and felt like he slept for a long time.

“Sid.”

Sid jolted awake, heart thumping. “Hmm, what’s up?” he asked, sure that Zhenya would tell him he had to go. The sun was just starting to lighten the sky out the window.

Zhenya’s hand crept down his side, clearly on a mission. “You have time?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Sid said. The team didn’t meet until mid-morning, and he was willing to push his luck.

Zhenya trailed his fingers across Sid’s hip. “We can...”

“Yeah,” Sid breathed and pulled him in to kiss him.

Zhenya rode him, slow and easy, for a long time. His hands were braced on Sid’s chest while he worked his hips, cursing and moaning in turn. It didn’t seem like he was in any kind of hurry to get off and leave. He slowed down sometimes, like he needed to take himself back from the edge, and kissed Sid languidly. He only got off after Sid couldn’t take it anymore, when he was practically begging.

Even then, Zhenya didn’t look anxious to leave. He stretched out along Sid’s side and nuzzled kisses into his shoulder and neck.

“We should probably go eat soon,” Sid said regretfully. Zhenya made a face but didn’t disagree. “You know--Shea’s not coming back. He’s staying with his wife for the whole trip. You could take the room key. Come back if you want.”

Zhenya looked surprised at him. “You want?”

“Of course I do.”

A shy smile overtook the surprised expression. “Okay. I will come.”

They took turns showering this time, figuring it was best practice for them to actually leave the room. Before letting Zhenya out of his sight, Sid tucked a key card into his pocket and kissed him.

“Drop by anytime, okay?”

Zhenya grinned and nodded. When he left, Sid felt light and happy and bounded around the room to get his things gathered up to go find breakfast.

*****

Even after racing through his breakfast, Sid barely made it to practice. He skated out to the clatter of sticks on the ice, a sarcastic round of applause from his teammates, and offered a sheepish grin in return. Babs just grinned wryly and shook his head.

“Nice of you to join us, Captain,” he said, but he wasn’t really annoyed about it. After all, Sid had beat the clock by thirty seconds. “How about we start with a round of herbies in your honor. Everybody on the line.”

Sid couldn’t help a blush when the whole team groaned their way to the goal line. After the sprints down to each line and back, Sid returned to his spot, panting to get his breath back.

“Booty call turned off your alarm, huh?” Sharpy said knowingly from the other side of Kuni.

Sid froze. Was Sharpy’s room next to his? He couldn’t remember.

Kuni rolled his eyes. “You’re confusing Sid with someone interesting,” he said, and Sharpy cracked up.

“No hookups for the kid, eh?”

Sid smiled weakly, hoping Sharpy would take it as an agreement and drop the subject.

Thankfully, Babs took issue with their chatting. “If you’ve got the breath to talk, you’re not skating hard enough. Go again.”

The second set of herbies did the trick and got everyone in the mindset for practice. Sid put his head down and worked through it, concentrated on getting his line chemistry down with Kuni and Bergy. 

After practice, Kuni accompanied Sid on the walk back to the village, a silent and reliable presence to his right. About halfway to the building, without any preamble, Kuni suddenly said, “Sharpy has no idea about your hookup. He was just throwing darts blind.”

Sid's blood ran cold, but Kuni just offered him a sly half-grin.

“Don’t worry. I’m roomed up with Keith, and he’s like always wearing headphones. When he’s even around. He’s got family in town for the duration.”

Sid swallowed so hard he thought he heard it. “Um--”

“Like I said, don’t worry about it. You don’t have a neighbor on the other wall, so you’re good. I got your back.”

“Oh, he’s just--”

“What, a friend?” Kuni smirked. “Damn good friend, sounds like.”

Sid cringed. “Sorry.”

“You’re good, man. It's okay to have a good time occasionally. Relax.” Kuni clapped him on the shoulder--he was definitely laughing at him.

Sid sheepishly forced himself to do what Kuni instructed and calm down. "Thanks. It, uh--I really appreciate it." 

When they got back to the building, Sid dragged himself into his room. After coming down from the spike of adrenaline, he felt like he was asleep before he hit the mattress. He never even set the alarm.

The first day set a pattern for the next four. Sid woke up, got breakfast, went to practice, watched tape, mused on strategy with lineys over lunch, then went back to his room for a nap. The afternoon was his to do with what he pleased, and he usually took the opportunity to hang out with his teammates. A group of them went up to watch slalom races one day, and he tagged along with Shea and his wife for bobsleds another.

The only mystery in his routine was whether Zhenya would come. With the key, he could show up anytime, but Sid wasn’t exactly surprised that he didn’t. Even with a key, it couldn’t be easy to sneak away with all the attention on the host country. At least they managed to part on good terms.

The morning of the first game, Sid was taking a long stroll down the beach after breakfast to calm his nerves when his phone buzzed in his pocket and revealed a text from Kuni. _Where you at?_

Sid took a picture of the beach and sent it.

_We’re going to skate._

Sid perked up. He hadn’t thought they would have free ice before the game.

_Finland canceled practice. We stole. Coming?_

Sid grinned and turned around.

The best thing before a big game was to get the team on the ice without running any drills, basically just a stick and puck. Sid wasn’t surprised to see every Canadian player turn up, even though it was no-notice and completely optional. Half the guys didn’t even do more than handle a puck around and chat with their teammates, but it was good. It bled the tension out of them, particularly the first-time Olympians.

Sid snagged Toews for faceoff work for a while and wound up bearing the brunt of a lot of sarcastic French chirps.

“You know I can understand you.”

“Oui,” Toews said with a sharp smile. His initial bitterness toward Sid had melted since they'd been in Sochi, replaced with his spear-like sense of humor. His teammates seemed to think it was normal.

"A sign of respect," Keith said with a fond, exasperated smile under his beard while Sharpy nodded. 

Sid comforted himself against the sting of the ongoing insults by winning almost every drop.

They had the ice for an hour, but it felt like way less when the Zamboni doors clanged open and signaled the end. Sid dragged himself off the ice with his team and followed them back to their locker room. Everyone was chatting and laughing, and they were primed for a good game.

Sid returned to his room after a team lunch, feeling optimistic and lighthearted. He settled in for his nap a little early and set his alarm so he would get to the arena just before Russia’s afternoon game. It had nothing to do with Zhenya, Sid lied to himself. He just wanted time to walk around a little, get used to the place.

The denial didn’t stop Sid from immediately going to the Zamboni doors to watch some of the first period when he arrived at the arena. Several staffers did a double-take at him, but nobody seemed to mind him being there. He stayed back and kept the bill of his hat low to avoid any extra attention.

Still, when Slovenia iced the puck and brought the faceoff down to the circle right in front of Sid, Zhenya’s roaming eyes caught him. He didn’t smile, exactly, but his game face lifted just a little bit. Sid grinned helplessly back at him.

He stayed through the first period but reluctantly had to go back down the tunnel after that. His warmups had to take priority since Canada played just after Russia. He meandered his way back toward their assigned locker room and shouldered through the doors to get dressed.

Despite his optimism and the positivity in the locker room, Sid was surprised to find he felt almost as jittery as his first Olympics game. It really started to hit him as he was getting into his pads for warmups. It felt like the beginning of the playoffs, the start of something huge. He kept the nervousness off his face, but his heart began to race as he pulled on his jersey.

Sid was glad for his routine in warmups. It kept him from overthinking. He handled the puck through the same old movements, shot a few times on the net, and stretched out before he joined the team drills. He stayed keyed up, anxious to start, but didn’t feel weighed down by it. He kept his head on straight back to the locker room, where he wasn’t surprised to be announced as the starting center.

When the coaches were gone, Sid glanced around and realized most of the guys were looking at him. The C on his chest suddenly felt significant in a way it hadn’t since he arrived. On the Penguins, Sid wasn’t much of a speechmaker. He captained in other ways, taps to the head on the way out of the locker room, individual chats throughout the season. Still, he figured most of the guys were coming from different environments. Maybe their captains did more cheerleading. He felt certain Toews did before every game, the way that guy liked to talk.

“Alright, boys,” he said, “let’s play smart, play D, and get a good start out there. We know we’ve got a lot of eyes on us, eh? Let’s show them what we can do.”

Sid hopped up to get his stick and stayed by the door to bump fists and give encouragement on the way out. He went out last, as he always did, following his team down the tunnel and out to the ice.

Sid skated a hard lap to warm his legs back up. When he glided past the Zamboni door, he caught a glimpse of a shadowed, hooded figure leaning almost exactly where Sid stood earlier to spy on the Russia game. On his second lap, he looked closer and could not help the smile stretched across his face when he verified it was Zhenya.

Zhenya had his arms crossed, his shoulders hunched up like he could make himself small, but he was unmistakable. Sid almost waved before catching himself and realizing that Zhenya was hiding for a reason, probably the same reason Sid himself had stayed shadowed earlier. There were cameras everywhere, ready to catch anything peculiar or seemingly out of place. Sid kept his hand down but did take a third lap to see him one more time before he had to get his game mentality firmly locked into place.

The first period consisted of both teams feeling each other out. The shots were nearly even, and the defense and goalies performed well to keep it tied at zero. Sid tapped every player coming off the ice, hoping to reassure them that the period hadn’t been a catastrophe.

The first goal didn’t come until the second period when Sid was actually starting to get a little worried. Shea banged one home from the blue line, and a weight was lifted off Canada as the crowd went nuts. Benn put them up by two toward the end of the period to send them to the locker room loose and happy.

They won the game 3-1--not exactly a blowout, but Norway’s goaltender stood on his head--and Sid felt confident that Canada was only getting started. They’d needed the game to get their cohesion, to get on the same page. Whatever missteps they’d made, little turnovers and defensive mishaps hadn’t been repeated. They were learning fast how to win together.

“Fuckin right, boys. That’s how we do it,” Sid said in the locker room, grinning ear to ear. Teammates showered him with hand taps and fist bumps on his way to his stall, and Sid stripped off his jersey with a satisfied sigh. Winning felt awesome--it steadied his nerves to have the first one out of the way.

Babs let the locker room buzz for a few minutes, a hive of hyped-up hockey bees all chatting and laughing together, before he busted up the party. “Gentlemen, good job. You found a way to win, you finished strong, and most of all, you got a tremendous job out of your goalie. Carey,” Babs pointed to him. “Awesome fucking job, man.”

The locker room clapped and cheered. Babs let them go before he put his hands on his hips and sobered.

“It’s damn near midnight. I’m not going to tell you all that you have a curfew. You’re grown men. You make your own choices. However, I am going to strongly suggest that anyone who wants to play in tomorrow night’s game, do not show up here hungover.”

The party atmosphere died a little at that, but Sid didn’t mind. He was looking to eat a banana and go to sleep, not party.

Babs looked every one of them in the eye before he relented. “Alright. We’ve got ice tomorrow at ten for anyone who wants to get their legs warm. Optional, of course. Let’s get some rest and go get another one.”

Despite the coach’s warning, it only took ten minutes before somebody yelled across the shower, “Who’s buying the first round?”

“Captain Crosby volunteers,” Toews replied.

“Ha, no way,” Sid called over his shoulder. He wiped the water out of his face and found the party planners, Benn and Toews, looking at him like they couldn’t believe he was serious. “I’m snacking and hitting the hay, boys. I’m wiped.”

He wasn’t really _that_ tired--he just didn’t want to go out the night before a game. He was surprised anybody was actually considering it.

A chorus of boos did nothing but make Sid laugh as he ducked his head back under the spray to finish rinsing his hair free of shampoo.

“Man, you really are boring,” Sharpy laughed, a callback to Kuni’s comments. “Alright, kids. First round’s on me.”

The boos turned to cheers and plans for going out shortly after. Sid sighed and sent up a silent prayer that they would have enough players to fill a roster the next night.

“Don’t worry,” Sharpy said low when they were nearly dressed back in the locker room. “I got this.”

Sid looked sideways at him.

“Trust me. The way to keep them sober enough to play isn’t to keep them from going out. Boys will be boys and all. But me and Duncs will keep it tame and get them in early.”

Sid slowly grinned. “Right. That’s smart.”

“I’m wise beyond my years, I know,” Sharpy said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “So, with that in mind, you coming?”

Sid shook his head. “Nah, sorry. I’m going to bed.”

“Ah,” Sharpy said with a sage nod and then a wink. “It’s okay. Go see the booty call.”

Sid’s cheeks flamed. He laughed, but it sounded hollow. “Yeah, right,” he said weakly.

Sharpy’s smile never lost the sincere conviction of the righteous, but he thankfully dropped it. Sid finished dressing and waved at everyone on his way out. “Good game, see you tomorrow.”

The arena stood so close to the village, it made no sense to get a bus or taxi back. It was a clear night, pleasantly cool, and Sid didn’t mind walking. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and set a brisk pace, arriving back at his room within ten minutes. He shouldered in and immediately froze at the sight of a person reclining on his bed. His shock transitioned seamlessly to joy.

“You’re here,” he said. Zhenya grinned at him.

“You think I don’t come?”

“I just thought...” Sid trailed off, not wanting to admit he thought Zhenya was blowing him off. While he understood, he didn’t believe Zhenya would take the risk of coming back and getting caught.

“It’s okay? You have game tomorrow, but--”

“It’s so fucking okay,” Sid gushed, and Zhenya’s smile relaxed back onto his face.

“Good. I bring something for you,” Zhenya said eagerly as he swung his legs out of bed. He went to the table by the window and picked up a DVD case, then held it up for Sid’s inspection. The title was written in Cyrillic script--unreadable.

“Is it a movie?” Sid guessed.

“Yes, it’s really good movie. Because we watch the thing, and it’s so bad. I want to bring this. So you see good Russian thing.”

Sid had to stop smiling. He probably looked like such a dope--it was a DVD, not an engagement ring. “Okay, cool. Let’s watch it.”

Zhenya’s relief was palpable. He went to the TV while Sid stripped out of his jacket and shoes. On his way past Zhenya to his bed, Sid ran his fingers down his back, and Zhenya shivered.

They snuggled close on the bed--they didn’t have much choice. It was a small mattress, hardly accommodating two hockey players. But Sid certainly wasn’t complaining. He had Zhenya’s leg crossed over his own and Zhenya’s head on his shoulder before the movie made it past credits.

The position gave Zhenya ample excuse to roam his hands over Sid’s body. Sid found himself grateful for the subtitles because no way was Zhenya paying enough attention to the movie to translate.

The main character--a grizzled Moscow cop--had just been put on the case of a ruthless serial killer when Zhenya began to work a very unsubtle hand into Sid’s pants. Sid laughed.

“I thought you wanted to watch the movie.”

“I’m watch. See, eyes are look at TV,” Zhenya said while slyly working his hand into Sid’s underwear.

“I-- uh. It’s in Russian. I actually have to concentrate.”

“Don’t worry. I tell you when important things is happen.”

Sid swallowed as Zhenya petted his hand lightly over Sid’s stirring cock.

“Is not okay?” Zhenya asked. He wasn’t really asking just like Sid wasn’t really protesting.

“I just don’t want to miss your favorite movie.”

Zhenya lifted his head off Sid’s shoulder to study his face while he deliberately curled a hand around Sid’s dick. “Okay. I stop, and we watch.”

Sid cracked first. “Just let me pause it,” he said breathlessly. Zhenya looked like he’d won something and pulled his hand out of Sid’s pants to let him move to get the remote.

They touched each other more softly than their previous encounter. It was almost tender, the way Zhenya took Sid’s clothes off. The urgency he’d shown during the movie was gone, replaced by slow, sure touches and tender kisses. It was like Zhenya didn’t want anything more than to slowly jack Sid off and make out with him all night.

When Sid was close, Zhenya broke away from kissing him and pressed their foreheads together instead, breathing loud in the otherwise silent room. Sid wrapped a hand around Zhenya’s and slowed the motion of his hand to draw it out just a little bit longer. Watching the flutter of Zhenya’s eyelashes, hearing his little breathy moans every time he exhaled--it made Sid feel like his heart was bursting with how much affection he felt for this guy he barely knew. It was a lot to take in, the intimacy of the small bed in the quiet, dimly lit room and Zhenya breathing Russian against his lips.

Zhenya twisted his hand and Sid’s breath hitched when he came. It snuck up on him. He had an apology ready on his tongue when Zhenya reached down to wrap a hand around his own cock and pump it a couple of times before he followed Sid over.

They just lay there breathing together for a long beat before Zhenya tipped his chin up and found Sid’s mouth with his, slow and comfortable. Again, it hit Sid how big this felt. Maybe it was just because they’d done it four years ago--so it artificially felt like a longer relationship than it really was--but this felt _right_, being with Zhenya. Like it was inevitable.

“Sid,” Zhenya murmured. He sounded so fond. “Sid, it’s messy. Let’s go to shower.”

“Together?” Sid asked hopefully.

Zhenya acquiesced with a huffed laugh and a chaste kiss, then levered himself up. When Sid didn’t follow, Zhenya walked around the bed and offered a hand in an exaggerated gesture, like he was offering to help a princess out of her carriage. Sid wasn’t going to let him get away with that, so he took the hand and let himself be dragged out of bed.

The shower didn’t help break up the intimacy. The steam made everything seem even slower, more surreal. Sid touched Zhenya more than he washed his own body, which only made Zhenya smile at him. It was a really great smile.

“Hey,” Sid said when they were toweling off, the farthest they’d been apart since they got in bed together. “Thanks for coming tonight. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Sure, I want to come. See you play today, think--wow, that guy is really hot. Come to sleep with sexy hockey player.”

Sid jerked a smile at Zhenya’s teasing, but his blood ran cold. Zhenya still sounded fond, but his words chopped at the root of the matter. Zhenya remembered what Sid had allowed himself to forget for a few minutes--this was a hookup. Nothing more.

“Sid?”

“What?”

“Don’t know. You look--worry? Sad? Not sure.”

“Nah, I’m good. Just wondering how bad the sheets are. We might have to go steal some from service.”

Sid used the excuse to escape the bathroom and go check. The sheets were shockingly free of stains. He used his towel to get the few drops that had landed on the bed instead of one of them but didn’t think they would need a change right away.

They climbed back into bed without bothering with clothes, and Sid pressed play on the movie. It only took a couple of seconds for Zhenya to snuggle back up to him like before. Sid put his arm around Zhenya and ran slow patterns across his skin with his fingers.

“Hmm, feels good.”

Sid forced his nerves to settle. Maybe it was just a hookup, just for the Olympics, but it was a good thing. He wasn’t going to deprive himself of this pleasure just because it might be temporary. Lots of things were temporary--that didn’t make them worthless. He dropped a kiss onto Zhenya’s head and turned his attention back to the subtitles.

*****

Even though the next game came just twenty-four hours after their first, Team Canada unified the way everyone hoped and shut out Austria. The short turnaround may have even helped them keep the line chemistry they’d built together.

After the second win, Sid couldn’t escape going out again.

“It’s two days until the next game, Capt’n. No excuses,” Sharpy said as he ushered Sid out with his upbeat team.

Sid didn’t have any reason to protest since Zhenya almost certainly would not make it back to the room that night. With an early afternoon game and the earliest skate of the morning, Zhenya would want to stay with Russia in their rooms.

At practice the next day, the whole team was buzzing with positive energy. Everyone had a smile--their confidence was up. In fact, Babs had to snap at them more than once to keep their minds on their drills.

Finland would be tough. Sid knew that already just by reading the roster. Watching tape with the team after practice sobered everybody up quick.

“They’re fast, damn,” Shea muttered next to him.

“And they can shoot,” Price grumbled. He and Luongo exchanged concerned looks while Teemu Selanne danced around their screen. “How does he still play like that?”

Sid leaned forward to try to drown them out, eyes only for the screen. The Finns were fast, of course, but they relied on their offense to create pressure forward so that they didn’t have to fall back on the defense. Olli was their only notable defenseman, and Sid had scrimmaged him enough that it didn’t worry him much. Sid knew him so well--he could use that knowledge to his advantage.

Babs stopped the tape and slowly put down the remote. “So, gentlemen. That’s what we’re up against. This is the toughest opponent on the schedule. We beat ‘em, we’re in the quarterfinals, and we get a three-day break to prepare for it. But we have to go through Finland first. So go out, relax, have a good time, but come in tomorrow ready for a fight.”

The team left the room far more subdued than they were coming in. Sid found himself walking out with Kuni, who had his head down and his hands in his pockets at first until he looked up and said, “You going to Russia?”

“I’m already in Russia, bud. So are you.”

Kuni shook his head at the lame joke, obviously fighting a smile. “The game. Are you coming back to see Russia play?”

“Uh, hadn’t planned on it. Why?”

“Just thought--” Kuni shrugged, but he didn’t have to say it. He thought Sid wanted to go watch his hookup play hockey. Obviously, he’d picked up on Zhenya’s nationality, which was--god, so embarrassing. Did the walls have to be _that_ thin? “It’s one of the only games they’re playing we could actually watch. Thought you might want to catch it. Figured I’d join you--if you want.”

“Oh,” Sid said, surprised. “I uh--How do you even know he’s a hockey player? He could be a--” Sid’s brain struggled to think of a single other winter sport. “Snowboarder?” he finished with a sheepish grin.

Kuni snorted and didn’t believe him at all.

“Yeah, alright,” Sid agreed. “Let’s do it.”

They went to lunch, napped, and met back in the lobby of their building just before game time.

The Team Canada box wasn’t as empty as it had been during Sid’s first Olympic game back in Vancouver. There were a few vaguely familiar faces affiliated with Hockey Canada milling around, and the coaches sat at a table in the back, chatting and making notes. Babs looked up over his reading glasses and nodded at Sid like he wasn’t at all surprised to see him. He must have thought Sid and Kuni were there to scout other teams, prepare for the later rounds if they made it past Finland.

Once the puck dropped, the mostly Russian crowd got too noisy to do much talking. It was an exciting game, predictably fast, and Sid found himself sucked into the action in no time. The score stayed tight, two evenly matched, motivated rivals unable to pull away. First, Russia had the lead, then the States. At the end of regulation, it was tied, and the crowd hadn’t calmed down a bit. They cheered and booed all throughout overtime and went nuts for the shootout when Kovalchuk scored. Sid knew he couldn’t show a lot of emotion about the game with his coaching staff sitting right behind him, but his heart raced.

In the end, when Oshie scored the shootout winner, Sid’s heart sank along with all the crowd of Russians in attendance.

“Well--that was exciting. Let’s hope we don’t play the Americans, eh?” Kuni chuckled.

Sid nodded. That was the logical takeaway from the game--that Quick would stand on his head, and Oshie would put a puck through any hole you gave him. It didn’t make any sense to feel bad for Russia. They were rivals. They would likely play each other again, and Sid would have to beat them. But he knew what it was like to lose a massive game in front of a home crowd, at least in Pittsburgh, to hear them all go silent. He knew Zhenya would be feeling like garbage after the loss, even though he’d played well and kept the scoring low with smart backchecking.

Sid figured there was absolutely no way Zhenya would stop by that night after he returned to his room. Russia played again in less than twenty-four hours--they would undoubtedly prefer to lick their wounds as a unit to prepare to quick turn and pull out a win.

Only, just as Sid was settling into bed, the door opened. Zhenya shuffled in looking absolutely drained. “Okay I sleep here?”

“Sure, of course.”

“Only sleep,” Zhenya said with an apologetic shrug.

Sid’s stupid heart did a backflip and momentarily shorted out the logical part of him that said Zhenya was only there to get away from reminders of the loss. He wasn’t running _to_ Sid, he was running _away_ from Russia. “Yeah, of course. It’s cool, man.”

Zhenya unzipped his Russia jacket and carefully placed it on the back of a chair by the window. He let out a huge breath when he collapsed into the chair, and instead of bending to get his shoes just slumped back and rested his head on his hand. His eyes flicked to Sid, sitting up in bed. “You watch my game?”

“Yeah. Uh, me and a teammate were there.”

Zhenya looked down like he’d really hoped for a different answer. Sid took the opportunity to slide out of bed and go to him. Sid knelt by Zhenya’s feet to get in his line of sight and put his hands on Zhenya’s thighs.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes, you just lose.”

It worked exactly as well as he’d figured it would. Zhenya shook his head with a caustic laugh, undoubtedly mentally replaying everything he perceived he did wrong in the game.

“Hey,” Sid tried again. Zhenya looked at him miserably. Sid tried to think of what he wanted people to say to him when they lost, every year when the Penguins didn’t make the playoffs or got shunted out first round. What would he want to hear?

Nothing. Sid wouldn’t want to hear anything at all.

Instead, Sid raised up and kissed him. Zhenya didn’t offer any resistance, just pulled on Sid to get him closer.

Sid got him in bed and settled in beside him. When he clicked off the lamp, Zhenya reached for him, wrapped around him like a shawl. It felt possessive, which of course, Sid liked. He found Zhenya’s hand on his stomach and threaded their fingers together. Zhenya squeezed lightly, a grateful acknowledgment. His breathing started to even out shortly after, exhaustion pulling him down into sleep with his nose pressed into Sid’s hair.

*****

Sid fully expected to be woken up by Zhenya getting out of bed before dawn to sneak out of the building without inviting too many questions, but he was pleasantly surprised to wake up with Zhenya’s fingers raking through his hair.

“You sleep all day?”

“Hmm, keep doing that, and I might.”

Zhenya leaned over him to kiss him.

“Do you have to go?” Sid reluctantly asked.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Won’t your team wonder where you are?”

Zhenya made a humming noise, neither agreeing nor disputing and stayed put petting Sid’s hair. Sid relaxed into the attention. If Zhenya didn’t care, neither did he.

Sid found himself again having too many emotions about a guy he, objectively, did not know. He didn’t know if Zhenya liked coffee or dogs. He didn’t know if Zhenya lived in a house or a condo, what kind of car he drove, what he could cook. Zhenya was just a snapshot of a person, a practical stranger. He knew _nothing_ about this dude, but he was having some disturbingly big feelings about him.

There was only one thing to do about it.

“Do you like coffee?” Sid asked.

“No,” Zhenya said without emotion, so he didn’t like it, but he didn’t hate it either. He nuzzled up to Sid’s neck and kissed him under his ear.

“What about dogs?”

“For drink?” Zhenya teased.

“For pets.”

“I have dog before. Geoffrey. Big, big dog. But he’s die. I love him lots.”

The news about the dog brought a splash of color to Zhenya’s background, a stripe of paint across a blank canvass. Sid felt a little thrill about it and took a second to process the information before he reacted appropriately. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Was, like, one year ago. I think maybe I get cat.”

Sid made a face. Cats weren’t his thing.

“You don’t like?” Zhenya asked incredulously.

“Nah, not really. You can’t run with a cat.”

“I can’t run with Geoffrey. He’s too fat,” Zhenya said matter-of-factly.

Sid snorted a laugh, and Zhenya raised up to smile at him.

“You have dog?”

Turnabout was fair play, Sid supposed. He nodded. “Yeah, Sam. She mostly stays with my parents. She’s kind of old now. Too old to put up with my schedule.”

“Parents is here?”

“Oh, no. They came last time, but this would have been a pretty intense trip for them. It was easier in Canada.”

“My parents want to come, but I say don’t. I need to just think--play good hockey.”

Another splash of color painted the canvas, the knowledge that Zhenya had two living parents who loved and supported him, who wanted to come to watch him play. Sid craved more, so he asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

“Siblings?” Zhenya repeated, looking a little unsure.

“Sisters, brothers?”

“Oh, um...” Zhenya’s expression got unreadable. “Yes, my brother.”

“He didn’t want to come?”

Zhenya shook his head immediately, and it didn’t seem like something he wanted to talk about, so Sid switched topics.

“Do you like to cook?”

Zhenya’s smile returned, perplexed but genuine. “Sure. I like breakfast most.”

“Oh buddy, same. I’m a huge fan of breakfast.”

“Hmm, too bad. No kitchen in here.”

Sid felt a rush of fondness at the implication. “You would cook for me if we had a kitchen?”

“Sure. Pancake.”

“You would eat pancakes before a hockey game? Brave.”

“Is good for you. Energy.”

“Sugar, more like,” Sid scoffed.

“Yes, sugar for energy.”

Sid chuckled and shuffled around to kiss him. Finding out a few bare facts about Zhenya hadn’t done anything to tamp down his growing affection. “It’s just as well. I couldn’t turn down your cooking. Then we’d both be in trouble.”

“Your game is nighttime," Zhenya said, accidentally revealing that he'd been paying attention to Canada's game times. "You eat whatever for now.”

“That’s really not how it works for me.”

“Why? What you eat for breakfast?”

“On game days? Oatmeal and a protein shake. Every time”

Zhenya looked very upset by that. “Oh, Sid.”

Sid giggled. “Don’t you pity me. It works.”

“What you eat before game?”

“Usually chicken and rice. Maybe a snack an hour before if I’m feeling low.”

Zhenya’s upset expression wasn’t resolving.

“It’s not that bad," Sid laughed.

“Same thing, _always_?”

“It’s best to stick to the thing that works. What happens if you eat something new and it’s not enough fuel, then you’re dying 30 seconds into your shifts? It’s too late to fix it on the bench.”

Zhenya shook his head. “You think lots.”

“You’ll be shocked to hear people have told me that before.”

Zhenya moved and pulled on Sid until he could swing a leg over and straddle Sid's hips. “Why you ask these things?”

Sid shrugged. Zhenya’s ass wasn’t exactly grinding against his dick, but it was _there_. “I, uh--I guess I was curious. About you.”

“Good,” Zhenya said with a cocky curve of his mouth. He shifted his hips, and Sid started to take a definite interest in where this was going.

“Yeah?”

Zhenya nodded and moved until Sid’s half-chub nestled between his cheeks through the boxers. “I will ask also.”

Sid’s neck felt hot, a flush undoubtedly creeping up into his ears and flaming them red. His eyes stung even as he scolded himself--it should not move him this much that the guy he was screwing wanted to know a few things about him. He gripped Zhenya’s thighs and cleared his throat. “Yeah. Ask me anything.”

“Maybe--” Zhenya started, and then cut himself off, scanning Sid’s face with a pensive frown. When his teasing smile came back, Sid was pretty sure it was forced.

“Zhenya?”

“Maybe later,” Zhenya said. Then he bit his lower lip and rolled his hips to let Sid know they were done with the conversation part of the morning, which--okay, he wasn’t going to complain about. He could always get them back on track later.

Sid slid his hands up Zhenya’s thighs and dipped his fingers under his boxers. “Okay. Maybe later,” he agreed.

Only, there wasn’t much of a later. After they got off and then dozed again for a short recharge, Zhenya looked at the clock and groaned.

“Have to go?” Sid asked, disappointed.

Zhenya nodded solemnly and pushed himself out of bed. “Have to eat, get ready.”

“Okay.” Sid propped himself on his elbows to watch Zhenya walk naked around the room.

“Maybe I eat chicken and rice,” he said while he gathered up his clothes to retreat to the shower. He winked at Sid. “Be like you.”

Sid grinned helplessly and flopped back onto the bed when Zhenya closed the bathroom door. They weren’t finishing their game of twenty-questions just yet, but Zhenya hadn’t withdrawn. He wasn’t saying never again. “Later” would just have to be later than Sid thought.

When Zhenya had gone, Sid got ready and whistled his way across the village to get to breakfast. Several teammates were there, and he crashed in with them at a long table, grinning away.

“Look at this kid,” Sharpy said as soon as he looked at him. He elbowed Keith, who glanced over and shrugged, unimpressed. “Nobody looks that happy in the morning unless they got laid.”

Sid felt warmth start to rise in his cheeks, but after waking up with Zhenya, his mood wouldn’t be tempered. He grinned and gave an acquiescent shrug at Sharpy, who crowed in return.

“I knew it! Can’t keep anything from me. I see everything. Playing all innocent and sweet--I’m onto you.”

Keith rolled his eyes and spared Sid a sympathetic but helpless look--obviously apologizing for his teammate. Sid appreciated the gesture, but Sharpy didn’t bother him. He didn’t mean anything malicious by it. He was just nosy and thought everything was funny. Sid could deal with that.

More teammates arrived through breakfast, and the conversation drifted aimlessly. One thing they all carefully avoided was talk of Finland or hockey in general. It was time to decompress and stay light.

The tension ratcheted up when they converged on a purloined conference room in one of the buildings and ran some more tape with the coaching staff. Finland wasn’t looking any less terrifying on the second look.

Despite the mounting anxiety about the game, time kept plodding along, and soon it was time for Sid to make his way to the arena to start getting ready.

The arena was noisy, even from the tunnels. Russia’s crowd clearly hadn’t lost faith. Sid smiled to hear it on his way to the locker room.

His routine went by, eating away at the countdown before the game. Every time he passed into the halls, the crowd was cheering.

He was kicking a ball around with a bunch of guys when suddenly the building erupted. It stayed insane for minutes, the Russian crowd cheering their team. Then it went eerily silent. Sid passed by the Zamboni doors and glanced out. The score was still up in the empty arena. Russia won. Sid felt a rush of relief through the tension of his own upcoming situation, knowing that Zhenya would still be allowed to qualify for medals.

They knew Finland wouldn’t give them an easy win, but the grueling first few minutes of the game really hit that message home. The game was fast. Sid knew he was quick, but he felt like he couldn’t go deep into the zone without incurring the risk of getting outpaced trying to get back. Canada scored in the first but didn’t feel confident about the lead. Everybody on the bench felt nervous, a worry that was realized when Finland banged one in at the end of the second to tie it up.

Canada dragged the fast-paced match into overtime through pure force of will and excellent goaltending and--thank god--won it. Sid jumped up, yelling with his teammates on the bench when Doughty slammed one into the back of the net because they did it. They were in the quarterfinals.

*****

Sid didn’t see Zhenya for the next two days. He figured it had something to do with Russia going to a qualification game and had his suspicion confirmed when he arrived early for practice one day and caught Russia practicing. The coach was snapping out instructions, sounding harsh and severe. The players looked exhausted--like they’d been at it for hours.

Sid didn’t make it to the Russia game against Norway because of a team dinner, but he did keep half an eye on it where it was playing on a TV in the restaurant above the bar. They won before dinner was finished and he did an internal celebration. If they’d lost, Zhenya would have gone home, and Sid probably wouldn’t have another chance to see him.

Sid wasn’t surprised at all to find Zhenya on his bed when he returned to his room. He figured the big win might give the players some wiggle room to go out, even though they played the next day again. Sid pounced on the bed and straddled Zhenya to kiss him.

Sid woke up in Zhenya’s arms the day of the quarterfinals for both teams, and a weight settled over him. It was the beginning of the medal run. This would define both of their Olympics.

“How I can score on Finland?” Zhenya asked. He was cuddled up so close, Sid couldn’t see his face, couldn’t know if he was worried.

“Don’t ask me, man. I didn’t manage it. Want me to call Drew?”

Zhenya chuckled dryly. The weight didn’t lift off either of them.

They parted early for Zhenya to return to his team and prepare for the day. Sid walked him to the door with dread in his stomach, knowing that if Russia lost, it would be the end.

“Hey,” Sid said before Zhenya could touch the door handle. “Win. Okay?”

Zhenya seemed to understand what he meant. He nodded without any hint of a smile. “You too.”

Sid’s heart stayed in his throat all day. He hadn’t expected to feel so nervous. He numbly moved through his game day necessities. His nap was restless, and he cut it short.

Russia was already playing by the time Sid walked into the arena. The crowd sounded feverish and wild. Sid put his head down and went to his locker room. He had to get his mind right for his own game, not worry about what was happening with Zhenya.

The game against Latvia got very frustrating very quickly. It felt like Canada spent all their time in the Latvian zone. Still, they couldn’t get a puck past the Latvian goalie until later in the first period when Sharpy finally knocked one in. No sooner had he scored than Latvia answered and tied the game. The Canadians were quiet on the way back to the locker room.

They spent the next period and a half pounding Latvia’s defense without success. Finally, just as Sid was starting to dread overtime, Shea slapped one in from the blue line and gave them hope. Still, everyone held their breath as the clock ran down.

The walk back felt light and bouncy. The members of Team Canada were loud and boisterous.

Babs followed them in. “Great work, boys. You kept at them, didn’t get frustrated. That’s high-level hockey. You _earned_ that win. Keep that momentum, hold it tight. We play the US on Friday. Rest up and stay hungry.”

Sid yanked his jersey over his head and sat down, feeling utterly satisfied. The game had been hard-fought against a motivated team, but they had come out on top.

“Who else is left?” Sharpy called across the locker room. “Who won the Russia game?”

“Finland,” Toews said.

Sid’s contentment froze in his veins. He looked up.

“Ah, boo,” Sharpy laughed. “I’d rather play the Russians.”

“Well, I can’t help you with that,” Toews deadpanned. “They’re done.”

Sid felt cold and empty. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to say goodbye, and Zhenya was gone. Russia was out of the running. He showered and dressed and talked to teammates with half his brain.

When he shouldered through his door, he stopped at the sight of a suitcase and a hockey bag just inside. It couldn’t be. The amount of hope Sid felt was dangerous, but Russia’s logo was sewn on the hockey bag, and there were sticks in the corner--barely trimmed they were so tall. The shower was on, and the door was ajar. Sid nudged it open.

Zhenya had his head back under the spray of hot water. Zhenya was in his room, not gone back to his home. He’d stayed, maybe just long enough to say goodbye, but it was something. Sid felt a little choked up. He pulled the door back to its original position and retreated into the room.

Zhenya came out of the bathroom in nothing but boxers and froze at the sight of Sid. He looked a little bashful.

Sid crossed the room in three steps and kissed him.

“You’re here,” Sid said softly.

Zhenya nodded and cupped his cheek. “I tell team I’m leave, go home. Team leave tomorrow.”

“But you came here.”

“Well,” Zhenya looked down and shrugged. “I know you win. Want to come.”

Sid hugged him around his shoulders. “I’m so happy you came back.”

Zhenya’s arms closed around his back and held him so tenderly. “Me too.”

*****

Sid woke up slowly with a grin already pulling at his mouth because Zhenya was wrapped around him, leaving no doubt that he was there, not a hopeful dream. Zhenya hadn’t disappeared when his team lost. He had come to Sid.

Sid had practice in a couple of hours, and it wasn’t optional. He would have to go through tape review after that, then team lunch. He would be gone for a long time, well into the afternoon. If Zhenya couldn’t wait that long, he would understand. It was enough that Zhenya had come at all, that he’d pushed aside his own undoubtedly crushing disappointment from being eliminated to return to Sid, even briefly.

Sid felt oddly disappointed when Zhenya stirred. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to break the spell. If they got up, Zhenya would have to start making plans to travel, and Sid would have to go get breakfast before practice. They would split up, this time for good. He knew he couldn’t hold it off forever, but he wanted to try to push it back as much as possible.

“Hmm, good morning,” Zhenya said, his voice rough from sleep. He kissed Sid’s shoulder.

Sid looked back at him and smiled at his messy hair. Zhenya splayed his hand over Sid’s stomach, petting Sid like a spoiled dog while he kissed up his neck.

“What time is practice?”

“Not until ten,” Sid said. Zhenya made a content sound. His hand dipped lower, and Sid turned his face into the pillow with a helpless grin.

“Good. Have time to fuck me.”

Sid really didn’t have all that much time, not when he calculated in breakfast and the walk over to the ice. But it could be the last chance he had to touch Zhenya. Between the prospect of being late to practice, getting yelled at by Babs, and leaving Zhenya wanting in his bed, it was no contest. He was going to give Zhenya precisely what he wanted.

Zhenya threw his head back when Sid entered him. He pressed his bony heel into Sid’s hip and urged him on right away, pushing him faster. When his urging didn’t work, he raked his fingernails down Sid’s back and kicked him.

“Fuck me.”

Sid propped himself up with a hand on either side of Zhenya’s ribs and put his back into it. It was a bad idea the day before a game to be exerting himself like this. He was tired, worn out from the string of games they’d already played. It wasn’t smart, but Sid didn’t care. He only cared about the steady stream of moans coming out of Zhenya’s mouth, his hands grasping at Sid's shoulders and arms, and the way his voice caught when he came. The ache in Sid's hips and back would be worth it.

When Sid came with a shudder deep inside Zhenya, he took a moment to be still and bask in the feeling, breathing against Zhenya’s shoulder. Zhenya turned his head and nuzzled up to his temple, dropping kisses along his hairline. “Thank you.”

Sid huffed a laugh. “Right back at you, bud.”

Zhenya stayed in bed when Sid finally managed to pull away and get up. His eyes followed Sid around the room. His expression was unreadable, but Sid figured he was still upset about Russia’s elimination.

As it turned out, Zhenya was thinking something totally different, as he revealed when he spoke softly. “Go to dinner with me.”

Sid froze. His own words from four years ago hit hard.

“What?”

“Come to date.”

Sid gulped. “I thought we couldn’t.”

“Not easy, no. But I will. Better now that team is leave.”

“Well--okay, yeah. If you think it won’t get you in trouble. I’d love to.”

Zhenya lit up like he thought Sid might say no. He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed his cell phone. “Give me number.”

“Oh, uh--it’s not really my number,” Sid said regretfully. “I had to get an international SIM to come here, so it’s--I don’t have it memorized.” He pulled his phone out to look up the international number and give it to Zhenya.

“Good, I will text.”

“Okay, cool. I better shower. Go eat.”

“Yes, go. You’re late,” Zhenya teased.

Sid rushed through getting ready and kissed him on the way out. “See you later,” he said deliberately, so glad there was a later.

“For date.” Zhenya sounded as affected as Sid felt.

Sid gave his best try to focus on practice and video review. He made efforts to engage in conversation at lunch with his teammates. He tried to put on a totally normal façade, but in the back of his mind, he was elated. Zhenya asked him out. Zhenya was taking him on a date.

Zhenya wasn’t in Sid’s room when he returned to take a nap, but his bags were still there. His sticks were still in the corner. Sid turned off the light and crawled into bed to sleep without any worries plaguing him.

When he woke up, there was a text on his phone from a Russian number. _Tell this to Taxi._ Then it had an address. _Come at 7._

Sid smiled and stretched out in bed. He had a lot of time to kill before he met Zhenya downtown for their date. He could use some of it to laze under the covers.

Sid occupied the rest of his day playing Halo with a couple of his teammates in the commons, then taking a long walk down the beach. He found himself growing fond of the sea, the pebbled landscape stretched out before him. He would miss it when the Olympics ended, and he went home in three days.

Half an hour before the rendezvous time, he called a cab. It would get him there early, but he couldn’t wait anymore. His knee bounced the whole ride.

The driver stopped in front of a small, cozy-looking restaurant. Sid couldn’t tell immediately what type of restaurant it was, only that it was probably upscale. He approached the door fifteen minutes before Zhenya told him to be there.

“Mr. Crosby,” the hostess greeted, and he started, surprised at her greeting him by name.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.”

She smiled. “We have a table. Please, follow.”

He did as instructed and followed her through the--okay _very_\--upscale restaurant. To his surprise, all the tables were empty. It was a beautiful place during a busy time. Sid would have expected it to be full.

The hostess led Sid to a secluded table in the back, where a carafe of red wine sat breathing between two place settings.

A rumble of Russian behind Sid made him jump and turn. Zhenya was there in grey slacks and a white button-down, looking like he stepped out of a movie--one about romance and adventure and sharply-dressed, handsome spies. The hostess nodded at whatever Zhenya said and walked away. Zhenya stepped close to Sid, then bent down deliberately and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Sid breathed. He looked around again at all the empty tables, considered Zhenya’s dismissal of the hostess and the flagrant kiss on the cheek. “Did you...buy out this whole restaurant?”

Zhenya shrugged. “Sure. Want place to have real date.”

“Wow. That’s a lot to go through for one date.”

“Worth it,” Zhenya said softly. He was looking at Sid like--Sid wasn’t sure. He looked fond and a little choked up. Maybe he was still sad about Russia’s elimination, or perhaps he was preparing for their inevitable separation, with the Olympics ending. “Come, sit.”

The setting was undeniably romantic as Zhenya poured each of them a glass of wine. Candles lit their table softly, and an arrangement of flowers adorned the center. Zhenya picked it up and moved the vase so that it wasn’t blocking any part of the view of Sid across the table. He could see why Zhenya felt the need to buy out the restaurant. The way they were looking at each other, giggling, no way anyone would have thought they were just friends. If another patron had recognized them, it would have been a problem.

The restaurant, as it turned out, was a steakhouse. Sid was all in favor and ordered his ribeye rare with Zhenya translating. Zhenya translated three times, in fact, with a perplexed look at Sid. “Rare? He say this is, like...blood.”

“Yeah,” Sid laughed. “I know. Tell him to take it off right when it stops mooing, and it’ll be perfect.”

Zhenya didn’t look like he knew how to begin translating that. He said a few things with a couple of gestures at Sid and a shrug, undoubtedly agreeing with the waiter that Canadians were weird as fuck.

Whatever he said, it worked out. The steak was perfect and buttery soft, well-aged and decadent. Sid savored the first bite with a groan. “Oh my god.”

“Good?”

“So good.”

Zhenya smiled, looking a little smug about it.

Sid was pleased with his steak and broccoli, but Zhenya insisted he also try the potatoes he’d ordered. Sid acquiesced since it was only _one_ starchy bite, and the game was late the next day. Instead of letting Sid snag some off his plate, Zhenya held out his fork and fed him.

“Oh, wow,” Sid said. “That’s awesome.”

It was so awesome, in fact, that he didn’t resist when Zhenya held out another bite a few minutes later. Admittedly, it was only partly the potatoes, which were excellent. The other part was Zhenya feeding him, looking at him with soft eyes the whole time.

When the entrees were done, Zhenya said a few things to the waiter, who nodded curtly and disappeared. He returned with some very decadent looking cake. It was pale yellow and looked like it had about ten paper-thin layers.

“Try this.”

Sid knew he shouldn’t, but he did anyway. He scooped up a little bit of cream and a chunk of the cake. It was sweet, familiarly so. “Is that...honey?”

Zhenya nodded. “It’s medovik.”

He’d never heard the word before, and it didn’t tell him what the cake was, but he was happy to take another bite.

When they’d polished off both the cake and the wine, Zhenya said a few more things to the waiter and stood.

“Wait, don’t we have to pay?”

“I take care of it,” Zhenya said. “It’s date--don’t worry.”

Sid couldn’t imagine how expensive it had been to buy out the entire restaurant for the evening. He rose and brushed his hand across Zhenya’s. “Thank you.”

“It’s good date?”

“The best.”

Zhenya flipped his hand and briefly squeezed Sid’s. “Glad you like.”

They went back to the village together, back to the room they’d been sharing, and fell into bed.

*****

To his surprise, after all the sugar and two glasses of wine, Sid woke up with his head clear. He woke up feeling determined and focused, eyes on the gold medal at the end of the road.

He raised Zhenya’s hand off his hip and slid out from under it. Zhenya didn’t even twitch while Sid moved around, getting ready for the day. He had a text from Shea filling him in on the breakfast plans. They were eating together, as much of the team as they could get. Most were already downstairs.

Zhenya looked so comfortable in bed. Sid wanted to wake him up and make sure he’d still be around when Sid got back. If this was goodbye, if Zhenya really was leaving, Sid wanted to make it count.

In the end, Sid couldn’t bear to wake Zhenya and texted him instead. _Had to get food. Will be back for nap at 1._

Hopefully, Zhenya would text if he left, give Sid a chance to excuse himself from the team for a brief interlude to come see him off.

Once Sid was with the team, it became pretty easy to let his mind settle into a game-day focus--the worry about missing Zhenya fading to distant background noise. The players ate together, boisterous and cheerful, but with a meaningful tension running underneath. That tension grew tighter after they skated when they gathered to do a final tape review and meeting before the USA game. By the time Babs dismissed them, the silliness was mostly gone. They ate lunch--still cheerful and confident, but with a sense of purpose and urgency as well.

Sid stopped at his door and held his breath. In a second, he would open the door and find out if Zhenya was still there. He hadn’t gotten any texts, so he had reason to hope. But then, Zhenya had never texted him about anything other than dinner. Maybe he wouldn’t have even thought about sending a message to say he was going to the airport. Sid closed his eyes and rested his hand on the handle.

“Only open with key.”

Sid’s eyes popped open to see Zhenya approaching from the other end of the hallway, smirking.

“You’re here.”

Zhenya shrugged. “Time for nap, hmm?”

He took Sid’s text as a request to return for their nap. It wasn’t intended that way, but Sid was very grateful that’s how Zhenya took it.

Zhenya crowded in close against his back and slid the keycard into the electronic locking system. It beeped. Sid pushed the handle down and opened the door. Before he stepped away and into the room, Zhenya boldly planted a kiss on his neck.

They stripped down to boxers and got into bed. Zhenya propped himself up on his elbow to look at Sid with a contemplative frown.

“What?”

“You will win.”

“I’m going to try.”

“Yes. You will win,” Zhenya said with a finality that buzzed around in the paranoid parts of Sid’s brain. Was it enough to curse him? He almost made Zhenya take it back, but the confidence Zhenya had in him was oddly flattering.

“It’s a team sport,” Sid said weakly.

Zhenya chuckled like he said something funny and snuggled down with him. “Okay, sleep.”

“Bossy.”

“Nap. Get energy for win.”

Sid really wished he would stop saying that. He figured the best way to stop him was to settle down and sleep, so he did.

Zhenya’s prediction didn’t do anything to hurt Canada in the end. It was tight, and the game was tense, but they came away with the victory to earn a spot in the gold medal game. The locker room was so wild and loud, Babs walked in for his post-game speech, slowly smiled, shook his head, and walked back out. He wouldn’t have been heard at all.

Sid still felt full of energy leaving the Bolshoy. This time, nobody dared go out. They were practicing early to prepare for Finland in the gold medal game. It was serious now, dangerous. Every player had a game mindset and would until the last horn sounded.

Sid picked up his pace, anxious to get back to his room and see Zhenya again.

He found Zhenya in bed with a laptop computer and dove in next to him to kiss him. Zhenya laughed between their mouths, trying to put the laptop aside while pulling Sid in to straddle his thighs. He wound up clumsily sliding it onto the side table while Sid fumbled with his own jacket zipper to get it off. Sid reared back to shrug out of the jacket, and his eyes caught on the computer.

Sid stopped undressing, staring instead at the laptop. “Are those plane tickets?” he asked. The website was in Russian, but it was clearly an airline. And the date was numerical. The tickets were for the very next day, the day before the gold medal game.

Zhenya cleared his throat. He didn’t look amused anymore. “Uh, yeah. I’m go back home.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“But--” Sid didn’t really have a good ‘but,’ other than he simply wanted Zhenya to stay. “I need you. You said we would win against the U.S., and we did.”

“You will win also against Finland.”

“It doesn’t count _now_. You have to say it on the day. Before our nap.”

“Sorry,” Zhenya said, and he looked genuinely regretful. “My team--my real team is call. Other player come back, they wonder where am I?” He rolled his eyes a little. “They get pretty mad.”

“You can’t just explain it to them?”

“Explain how I’m want Canada win gold?” Zhenya asked, corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “They would be more mad.”

“That’s...fair. Damn.”

“Besides, you win, you go out with team.”

Also true. And Zhenya definitely couldn’t join that. He’d be hung out to dry if any cameras caught him. “Well, shit.”

“Don’t frown,” Zhenya teased. He tapped Sid’s lower lip with a finger. “This one more sleep together. It’s good.”

“Yeah, of course. It’s good. I’m glad you could stay as long as you did.”

Still, despite Zhenya’s flippant words and Sid’s reluctant acquiescence, they didn’t feel like going back to screwing around. Sid nestled down on the mattress and gathered Zhenya in close. Neither of them fell asleep for a long time.

*****

In the morning, Zhenya got up early to take a shower and leave for the airport. Sid woke up with him and sat on the bed, feeling a little numb. He’d known, of course, that they weren’t going to spark some kind of grand romance off this two-week tryst, but it still felt hollow to let it go. There was something terrible about the idea of going back to his old life--doing all the same old things--without any hint that Zhenya ever came into the picture. He would be erased, nonexistent.

Then, maybe they would see each other again in four years, at the 2018 Olympics. Sid would be thirty then, likely still single. If Zhenya was also, maybe they would pick up again, fuck each other for two weeks, and then go their separate ways. The Olympics after that, Sid would be thirty-four. After that, thirty-eight, and who the hell actually gets to play Olympics-level hockey that long?

Sid looked at their phones on the nightstand. When he returned to Pittsburgh, he would replace the sim card in his cell with his own, the one that worked in North America. It would have his number, the one he had memorized. Even if Zhenya tried to text him, it wouldn’t work. His international number would be gone.

Sid thought back to their date, carefully organized and meticulously planned. Surely, Zhenya wouldn’t do that if he felt nothing, go to all that trouble. Maybe he didn’t want to wait four years, either. Maybe, just maybe, Sid wasn’t alone in feeling far too much for his Olympics fuckbuddy.

Sid craned over to the bedside table and snatched up the notepad there. He glanced up at the closed bathroom door, then jotted his number down on the pad. Sid wasn’t brave enough to write a message. Zhenya would want to contact him, or he wouldn’t. This, at least, put the ball in his court.

Sid tucked the note away in Zhenya’s suitcase side pocket. He returned to sitting on the bed just before Zhenya appeared out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel over his wet hair. He offered Sid a weak smile. At least he didn’t seem to want to part either.

Zhenya dressed in comfortable-looking jeans and a sweatshirt for the plane ride. He packed up what little he had unpacked, put his phone in his pocket, and stood looking lost in the middle of the room. His eyes turned to Sid like he could help.

Sid got up and slid his hands onto Zhenya’s shoulders. “This has been really fun.”

Zhenya made a near-grimacing expression like Sid had somehow hurt him. “Fun, yes.”

“It’s not so bad. You’re just going home.”

Zhenya nodded. “Home. Back to hockey. More hockey.”

Sid grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Zhenya didn’t quite manage a smile at that before he ducked in to kiss Sid, lingering for a long time. “You will win,” he repeated. “Gold medal.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They parted. Zhenya gathered his sticks and his bags and headed toward the door like he was going to execution. Maybe he just didn’t like flying, but Sid really hoped it was more than that.

Sid kissed him one more time at the door and watched him go down the hall until he disappeared around the corner to get into an elevator.

Canada won, as predicted. Sid’s second gold medal came as a captain, which was its own kind of reward. It felt like validation for all the years the Penguins couldn’t get it done.

Their win came on the last day of the Olympics. So many people had disappeared--it left the village and even the city of Sochi itself feeling barren and lifeless. Team Canada did their best to change that, jumping from restaurant to bar to dance club that night.

Sid dragged his body back to his room, drunk and happy. He would fly back in the morning with the rest of the team. Half of them would be hungover and pissed off at the other half--the ones who remembered to drink water. With that in mind, he forced himself to down a couple of glasses at the bathroom sink.

As he was collapsing into bed, Sid reached for his phone. It was lit up. Unsurprisingly, he had messages--probably more people finding out about the gold through different time zones. Sid squinted at his phone and found the first text was from a Russian number. His heart skipped into high gear as he opened it.

_See? Win gold._

Sid smiled. _Thanks for the luck._

Zhenya answered back immediately. _You make luck._

Sid wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

_I find paper._

Sid’s heart jumped and started racing.

_ok I text tomorrow?_

Sid beamed. _So fucking okay._

Zhenya sent him a string of emojis. He’d found the number and wanted to use it. He would text Sid back in the States, where everything was real, not this oasis of freedom from his actual life. Zhenya would text Sid when he was in his house in Pittsburgh doing meal prep or practicing at the UPMC or on the road to another NHL town, which would make the texts real. _Zhenya_ would be real.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, I spent a year writing a story including a fairly positive *very fictional* representation of Mike Babcock only to wait until the week he got outed as a giant piece of crap to post it. Of fucking course that happened... 
> 
> Ah well. The Terror made John Franklin look like he knew what he was doing in the arctic, so even creators way better than me take liberties. ;)  
  
[tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/getoffmyhead)  



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